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I even know what she’d say if we asked her: “No one puts Baby in a corner.”
He chuckles. “Won’t she get flashbacks of being a naughty child?”
I look at him worriedly. “Did they put you in a corner as a kid? My parents think that’s child abuse.”
He winces. “That was the least of it.”
My chest squeezes. “I’m sorry. I feel like such a spoiled brat. My siblings and I didn’t even get timeouts.”
“And you turned out great,” he says, his eyes warm as he glances at me. “I agree with your parents. Children should be cherished, not punished.”
Okay. I’ll file that away in case we get drunk again and have unprotected sex.
I shift in my seat. “Any other traditions to be aware of?”
“Some Russians sprinkle change around the house,” he says.
“That could be useful.” I check my pockets and locate a few quarters. “Anything else?”
“Not for moving in. But when you leave the house, it is traditional to pour out a glass of water.”
I keep my face neutral. “Like pouring one out for the homies?”
“What’s that?”
“Never mind. What else?”
“Before leaving to go on a trip, Russians formally sit down. When inside the house, whistling is forbidden, as it can lead to lack of money.”
Is that why I’m so broke? I do like to whistle as I write my blog posts… but never again.
“You got more?”
“You can’t twirl a hat,” he says. “You can’t put bread upside down. You can’t spill salt. You can’t wear a shirt inside out. You can’t sit at the corner of the table—but that only applies if you’re unmarried. You can’t cut your own hair.”
“Not even bangs?”
He grins. “I think you should be safe there.”
“Okay. Is that it?”
“You can’t shake hands under a front door frame. And that one is serious. Even non-superstitious Russians follow that.”
Huh. I guess no shaking of hands with the pizza guy. Got it.
“What’s the one you follow the most?” I ask.
He considers it. “There’s one about eating everything on your plate. I always do that.”
“Is it a respect for food thing?”
He nods, a bit grimly. “They say leaving food can lead to tears, but I think you’ve nailed it. The tradition was probably started by people who knew real hunger. Once you do, it doesn’t feel right, throwing away food.”
If he’s saying what I think he’s saying, I want to get a time machine and go back so I can feed him at the orphanage. Also, I feel horrible about all the desserts we left in that hotel room in Vegas. Hopefully, he doesn’t consider desserts real food, but just in case, I now have an extra reason not to admit my inability to eat the cake after all that fruit.
“Anyway,” Art says. “You wanted to discuss some marriage stuff?”
Ah. Right. I almost forgot. “What other things do I need to know about? Living together caught me off-guard, so I figure this is worth a conversation.”
